


The Fifth Bottle

by SophiaGeorge



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaGeorge/pseuds/SophiaGeorge
Summary: A missing scene from episode 2/3.  Because there’s no way that Drunk Sidney didn’t give himself away ten times over to his friends.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 89
Kudos: 339





	The Fifth Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely fell in love with Sanditon, and it's reignited my love for writing. This is the first piece of fanfiction I've written in my life, and I'm so grateful to the community of talented writers keeping Sanditon alive, even if ITV won't!

Crowe drained his glass and slammed it down on the table. “Come gentlemen, another bottle. We’ll toast our departure from this damp hellhole.”

He hailed the landlord and watched with satisfaction as another flagon was dumped in front of him.

Sidney groaned, rubbing his eyes. “My God, Crowe, have pity. I should go to bed.”

“Bed?” exclaimed Babington. “What are you, a dowager? The night is young, and you look like a man in need of unburdening himself.”

“I look like nothing of the sort,” Sidney muttered, but he allowed Babington to slop more wine into his glass.

The three of them were listing alarmingly in their seats, enveloped in the warm glow that only four bottles of the Denham Arms’ best red could provide. Sidney had come back from his swim wanting wine and plenty of it, and his companions had been more than happy to oblige. Loud and raucous conversation around boxing and horses and the latest on-dits from London had gradually given way to more maudlin reflections. Crowe had started muttering about his mother, a sure sign he was well away and Sidney was staring silently at the wall opposite, lost in his thoughts.

Babington shot a curious glance at his friend. He had known him since Eton of course, and all the way through that first London season, where Sidney had been vital and in love and passionately interested in everything he saw. Then after that nasty business with Eliza, he’d come back from Antigua transformed – older, elegant and with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. Now though, he was flung back in his chair, and although his expression was as enigmatic as it ever had been, there was a new restless energy in the set of his shoulders. He looked, Babington realised with a shock, alive again, his eyes bright and glittering dangerously. It was a far cry from the indifferent Sidney he had come to know these last years. He cleared his throat. “Everything alright old friend?”

“Why wouldn’t everything be alright?”

Babington gave a crack of laughter. “Oh let me count the ways. Your brother is battening on you for your connections, you have a ward who thinks you a veritable jailer and you’re trapped in a sad, sandy little place with no entertainment to be had for miles around.”

Sidney exhaled, an impatient hiss through his teeth.

I don’t give a fig for any of that. If you must know, I…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind. I’ve had a devil of an afternoon, that’s all.”

Babington leaned forward as Crowe surreptitiously refilled Sidney’s glass. “Well now I’m intrigued. What could possibly have happened between here and the beach to put you so out of temper?”

“Miss Lambe went and murdered that old battleaxe, I’ll be bound,” said Crowe with a wink. “Not to worry, Parker, we’ll help bury the body.”

Babington snorted. “More than likely Tom has decided to build a pavilion to rival Prinny’s and wants you to fund it.”

At Sidney’s eyeroll, Crowe giggled. “No, no, it could work. You could put your name on it and tell all the ladies in London you have a magnificent structure.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” growled Sidney, slamming his glass down. “If you must know, I went for a swim down in the cove. I was underwater and when I stood up…” He took a breath and his cheeks reddened. “Miss Heywood was standing on the beach looking straight at me.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Babington threw his head back and laughed, as Crowe’s mouth opened wide in delight.

“Good God man,” said Babington. “You mean she saw you in all your glory?”

“I mean nothing of the sort,” retorted Sidney.

“Aye, very true,” said Crowe. “Damned cold, the sea, even at this time of year.”

Sidney uttered a short and graphic expletive in Crowe’s direction and grabbed at the bottle.

Babington’s shoulders were shaking. “My God, the poor girl. What happened after that?”

Crowe grinned. “Did she swoon?”

Sidney glared at him and downed another glass.

“She said I was the last man she wanted to see. Then she ran away.”

There was another shout of laughter from his companions.

“What an indictment,” said Crowe. “If the sight of a handsome devil like you sends the ladies fleeing in fear, what hope for the rest of us?”

Sidney ignored him. He was sitting forward now, cheeks flushed with wine. “What was she _doing_ there anyway? Surely if she was so desperate to take a walk she could have gone down to the beach. Or the cliffs? Tell me Babington, what’s wrong with the cliffs?”

“Nothing that I can see,” replied Babington with a grin. “Damned fine views if you like that sort of thing.”

Sidney flung a hand out, knocking over a glass. “She does like that sort of thing. Of _course_ she does. As far as I can ascertain, Miss Heywood has never met anything about Sanditon that she didn’t like.”

“Apart from you of course.”

“And you may go to the devil, Crowe. My God, I’ve done everything my brother asked. Dragged you all down to this accursed place, danced at his damned ball, sat through the longest lunch of my life and what is my reward?” His speech had begun to slur. “Tom chides me for not furnishing him with the Prince Regent on a plate, and that…that _wretched_ girl pops up around every corner and every rock, with her _opinions_ and her…her _eyes_.” He slumped back in his chair.

Babington exchanged a wordless glance with Crowe and coughed. “Ladies do generally have them.”

Crowe frowned. “What, opinions?”

“Eyes, you fool.”

“Of course.” Crowe turned to Sidney. “Do tell me, what is it about Miss Heywood’s eyes that offends you so much.”

“They don’t offend me. They _judge_ me. And anyone else unfortunate enough to stray into their path. You cannot have so much as a simple conversation without her looking straight into your soul, assessing you, deeming you unworthy.”

“Aye, it’s the same with Miss Denham…” began Lord Babington.

Sidney ignored him. “Just the way that she narrows her eyes and peers at you, like so.” Here he screwed his own eyes up and squinted around the assembled company. “As if you were a curiosity in a museum that she doesn’t particularly care for.”

Crowe gave a crack of laughter. “True enough. She sent you to the right about at Lady D’s lunch did she not? She was perfectly pleasant to me of course.”

“I wish you joy of her,” muttered Sidney.

An awkward silence fell across the table. Then Babington stretched and got to his feet. “Well gentlemen, time to call it a night, I think. We have a long journey ahead of us in the morning and I refuse to spend it casting up my accounts all over the carriage floor.”

“Aye, right enough,” said Crowe. Both of them glanced at Sidney. He was still in his chair, jaw set, one hand on the bottle. “Go. I’ve a mind to stay and finish the bottle. No point wasting good wine.”

Babington put a hand on his shoulder. “If you’re sure?” Sidney waved an impatient hand in his direction. His friends shrugged and walked a little unsteadily out into the night air.

Once outside, they looked at each other for a moment. Babington grinned. “Well, well, well. What do you think?”

Crowe took a pinch of snuff with an unsteady hand. “Hook, line and sinker.”

“My God, when I think of all the society beauties who have set their caps at him and he’s barely raised a brow.”

“Yet one flash of Miss Heywood’s judgmental gaze and he’s listing about like a sinking ship. It’s an absolute delight. Remind me to congratulate her when I see her next.”

Babington laughed. “It’s almost enough to make me want to stay and see what happens next.”

Crowe shuddered. “I beg of you, not a single night longer.”

“I did say almost.” Babington cast a glance back towards the inn. “I’ll lay odds Sidney won’t be in the coach with us tomorrow morning though.”

Back inside the Denham Arms, Sidney drank the last of the bottle in a single gulp. Perhaps it would help block out the image of Miss Heywood’s wide dark eyes and her pale, shocked face. Feeling his way through the fog of wine, he tried to remember a time when she hadn’t plagued his thoughts and was mortified to discover that he could not. Since that first morning on the cliffs…He groaned at a sudden memory. Why had he called her the maid? He had known perfectly well that she wasn’t, or that Mary was in the habit of strolling around arm in arm with her household staff.

Wine lifted back the curtains of his denial and revealed the truth he was so desperately trying to avoid. He wanted her quite damnably and he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d noticed her the minute he had jumped down from his curricle, he’d felt an odd sort of pull towards her which had alarmed him and then made him furious with himself. And then the ball – a jumble of recollections of her tempting curves in a white gown, and her neat, acidic assessment of his brothers. He remembered her eyes again, bright with tears as he’d given way to his anger. He felt a prickle of shame. No wonder she wanted nothing to do with him.

Suddenly Sidney was tired. He wanted his bed, but the thought of standing up and walking was too much altogether. Maybe he would just rest here a little and gather his strength. He placed the bottle and glasses on a nearby chair with the exaggerated care of the very drunk, and hauled himself onto the table. Just before the wine sent him into the dark, Miss Heywood’s face appeared before him once more, and he thought that she rather reminded him of a sunflower, joyful and open and questing ever upwards towards the sunshine. Despite himself, he smiled. And even as he fell into blessed oblivion, into dreams of curls and dark brown eyes, the smile may have lingered on his lips a little while longer.


End file.
